


Riza Get Your Gun

by fullmetal anime (sunkelles)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Annie Oakley - Freeform, Canon Typical Violence, Celebrities, F/M, Humor, Tonal Inconsistency, mentions of Edling, sharpshooters, the press
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-08 16:51:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14109798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/fullmetal%20anime
Summary: “Your daughter’s name is Riza? Riza Hawkeye? Like the sharpshooter? Little Miss Sure Shot?”“The one and only.”“The woman that shot a cigarette out of Fuhrer Bradley’s mouth?”Hawkeye is somewhere between herself and Annie Oakley. This changes some things, but fewer than you might expect.





	Riza Get Your Gun

**Author's Note:**

> This includes some references to the musical Annie Get Your Gun (and the title, obviously, is taken from that) but it’s not really based off of that as much as a few isolated incidents I know from Annie Oakley’s life and just the fact that Hawkeye as a Western sharpshooting celebrity is just fucking delightful to me? Shooting cigarettes out of the fuhrer’s mouth? Dealing with the press? Fighting off libel case after libel case? Husband who’s just enthralled by the fact that she’s cooler than him (By all accounts, Real! Butler was a much better dude than Musical! Butler). Sneaking in musical references? 
> 
> I was never going to be able to resist this. It was bound to happen.
> 
> Also I can't believe I wrote a fic with exactly one female character? wtf me you need to get your shit back together

Mustang never expected to be back on Master Hawkeye’s front door, but sometimes, life doesn’t go how you planned. Especially when you decide to finally drag yourself back to your master’s house to try to learn the secrets he wouldn’t give you.

Mustang knocks on the door and his master answers. Master Hawkeye doesn’t look like he’s standing at his own front door, but death’s. His skin is sallow and sunken in, and he curls in on himself a little while clutching the doorknob for support. He wears a sour look, but Mustang can’t tell if that’s because his master’s unhappy to see him or just because of how terribly he’s feeling.

“Master Hawkeye,” Mustang says. He sounds far more frightened than he’d intended to.

“Roy,” Hawkeye nearly croaks, “what do you want?”

“Can’t I just visit?” Mustang asks, trying to regain some semblance of composure. He doesn’t want his master to feel even less comfortable than he already does. Hawkeye just laughs.

“Have you _ever_ come just to visit?”

“Well, no,” Mustang says, “but I could start now.”

“Good time to,” Hawkeye says, with a ghost of his confident smirk, “I’m dying.” He coughs and spatters blood all over his hand. Then, the cough becomes a fit, the spatters become a wave, and the ghost of smirk becomes a terrified look. When he finally gets his coughing to stop, Hawkeye’s look is full of dread and understanding.

“Soon, I’m dying _soon.”_

“Sir-” Hawkeye doesn’t even let him finish.

“What do you want, Roy?” Hawkeye demands, “why are you here?” There’s a sense of urgency in his tone, like if they don’t have this conversation right now, they won’t have it at all. Chances are, from Hawkeye’s dread and what he just portended, they won’t.

“I want to learn Flame Alchemy,” Mustang says, “the secrets that you wouldn’t give me before I left.” Hawkeye laughs, bitterly, and the laughter turns into another coughing fit. He keels over, and almost falls. Just almost, though, because Mustang catches him, and holds his former mentor close to his chest.

“I’ve got you,” Mustang says. Hawkeye doesn’t say any words, but he groans in pain.

“ _Please_ , just tell me where your notes are and I can find them,” Mustang says, “I promise I’ll keep them safe.”

“You think I’d write that _down_? Where just anyone could find it?” Haweye says, “you’re more of a fool than I knew, Roy.”

“Then where did you put it?” Mustang’s beginning to fear that Hawkeye never recorded his research at all. Flame Alchemy might die with him. 

“The secrets are with my daughter,” Hawkeye says, “if she deems you worthy, you can get them from her.” Mustang knew that his master had a daughter, of course, but they’d never met. The two Hawkeyes already weren’t speaking by the time that Mustang came into the picture, and the memories were painful for his master. He didn’t bring up his daughter anymore than he had to.

“Oh,” Hawkeye says, with the closest thing to a smile Mustang has seen from him today, “you’ll be able to find her. The press always follows Riza.” _Wait._ He can’t have heard that right.

“Your daughter’s name is _Riza_?” Hawkeye nods.

“Riza Hawkeye? Like the sharpshooter? Little Miss Sure Shot?”

“The one and only,” Hawkeye says. He starts coughing again, blood splattering on Mustang’s back. Mustang can’t focus on that, though. He’s too stuck on _Riza Hawkeye._

“The woman that shot a cigarette out of Fuhrer Bradley’s mouth?”  He saw a picture of that in _The Central City Gazette_ . He even took the time to read the whole article, and he never does more than skim over headlines for fluff pieces. Unless, of course, the fluff piece in question is about _Riza Hawkeye._ He’d never admit it out loud, but he’s a big fan.

“That’s my Riza.” _Damn_ , Roy thinks, _the Hawkeyes must be the most badass family to ever walk the earth._ Hawkeye (senior, apparently) looks at him in confusion.

“Why are you so surprised? Hawkeye isn’t-” another cough, “a common name.”

“I always thought it was a stage name,” Roy admits.  He didn’t think there was any way that the most famous sharpshooter in all of Amestris was actually named _Hakweye._ It’s like if he decided to become a jockey.

Actually, he wouldn’t be a half bad jockey if he were shorter.

“That would be a bit on the nose,” Hawkeye says, and he coughs- again. This fit isn’t as long, but it’s more violent. It sounds like the coughs are being ripped from somewhere deep inside of him. His grip on Mustang’s back goes slack, and if Mustang weren’t holding him up, the man would fall to the ground.

“Tell Riza I’m sorry,” Hawkeye says. After that, he doesn’t cough, but he does close his eyes.

“Master! Master!” Mustang shouts, trying to keep the man with him, but Berthold Hawkeye has gone slack in his arms.

 

His master is dead. That much is obvious to him now. Apparently, _soon_ meant a hell of a lot faster than Mustang was anticipating. His master is dead, and Mustang’s been left with a terrible task.

He just has to track down a celebrity to tell her that her estranged father has died and ask her for the secrets said father had planned on keeping secret forever. The ones that Hawkeye wouldn’t give Mustang back when he was healthy enough to do so.

He just has to deliver bad news to _Riza Hawkeye._ Riza Hawkeye, the woman who once told a reporter from _The North City Star_ “I ain’t afraid to love a man, someday, but I ain’t afraid to shoot him either.” Mustang has to tell _this woman_ that her father is dead. He’s been in the military for a few years now, but he has to admit, this might be the scariest thing he’s ever done.

At least she’s easy to track down. Riza doesn’t have her next tour set up, but she’s spending a few weeks in Central to recharge from an extensive trip where she toured through the Northern region of Amestris and parts of Drachma.

It isn’t hard to track down the most famous woman in all of Amestris once he figures that out.

 

The house that she’s renting is small but cozy, with warm, reddish bricks and a big oak door. He rings the doorbell and waits for her to open it up. She’s wearing her hair up in something resembling a bun, which is unexpected. Whenever she’s photographed for the papers she always lets her hair flow free.

“Miss Hawkeye,” Mustang says. He hopes that he doesn’t sound starstruck.

“I’m not taking interviews,” she says. She glances back into the house, and he sees that she has her rifle in the corner by the front door. It’s a subtle threat, but it’s still a threat. Riza Hawkeye does not fuck around.

“I’m not looking for an interview,” he says, “I’m Roy Mustang.” He’s about to explain himself, but he sees recognition in her eyes.

“You’re father’s apprentice,” she says. Then she frowns. “You know, a girl can travel the whole world and still can’t escape her past.” He chooses not to address that part of the comment. He doesn’t really know what to do with that.

“Yes,” he says, “I was.”

“Was?” He should probably tell her the bad news now, but he doesn’t. He can’t exactly bring himself to yet.

“I joined the military.”

“Could have guessed that,” she says, with a familiar ghost of a smirk on her lips.

“How did you know? Was it my dashing good looks?” he asks. It might be a bit inappropriate, but he’s a flirt. He wasn’t exactly going to pass off the opportunity to flirt with the most famous woman in Amestris. And well, he’s had a bit of a celebrity crush on her for years, and she’s even more impressive in person.

“You’re still in uniform, Mr. Mustang,” Riza drawls.

“Oh,” Mustang says. He feels himself deflate in embarrassment.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she asks, crossing her arms and leaning against her door frame. _Oh_ , he thinks, _I can’t put this off anymore._

“Your father is dead,” Mustang says, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Riza asks. She seems so shocked that she can’t process the information.

“Your father died,” Mustang says. This time, she processes the information. He can see the knowledge sinking in on her face.

“I never even- I never even talked to him,” she says, “it’s been seven years.” It might be even worse because she had a strained relationship with him. Now she doesn’t even know how she’s supposed to feel. It’s grief, still, but probably tinged with confusion and regret.

He sees tears building in her eyes, and looks away. He barely knows her. He doesn’t think that he should see her grieving. There’s a sound that might be a laugh but might also be a sob.

“I haven’t talked to him in seven years,” she says, “I shouldn’t even be _allowed_ to cry about him.” He turns back to her, and sees the tears running down her face. He thinks about trying to comfort her, but he doesn’t really know her. He doesn’t know what would make her feel better. He doesn’t know if what he would say would help or just rub salt directly into her fresh wound. Instead, he takes a course he knows he has to, eventually.

“He said to tell you he’s sorry,” Mustang says. He doesn’t know if that’s going to make things better or worse, but he knows that he has to tell her that. She has a right to know.

“I’m guessing you didn’t just come to deliver that news,” she says. She uncrosses her arms and wipes away the last of her tears.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Then what are you here for, Mr. Mustang?” He takes something out of a pocket and starts moving it absently between her fingers.

“He told me to come see you about Flame Alchemy.”

“He told you to come see me about that?” she asks. She sounds skeptical, and decides to look at the _bullet_ she’s twirling around in her fingers rather than him.

“He said that he left his secrets with you,” Mustang says cautiously.

“He left his secrets with me, alright,” she says, like it’s some sort of bitter inside joke with herself.

“Can I see them?” he asks gently. He doesn’t want to pry, but he came all this way, and. Well. Learning Flame Alchemy is kind of important. It’s not more important than the fact that her father is dead, or her feelings on the matter, but it’s still pretty important. He wants to use alchemy to try to help the people of this nation. His alchemy right now isn’t exactly enough to cut it.

“My father trusted you with this?” She shakes her head, and he can tell that she’s doubtful. “He was never a fan of the military. Could have made a much better living if he’d just joined up, but he never would. He didn’t agree with their actions.” She looks down at her hands, twiddling that tiny bullet in her hands like some of his sisters used to fiddle with their jewelry or their hair.

“Yes,” Mustang says, “he told me I should speak to you about it.” Mustang doesn’t know why her father changed his mind about giving him the knowledge, but he did.

“Flame Alchemy is dangerous, Mr. Mustang,” she says, making a fist around the bullet. Then she looks up, meeting his eyes.

“Do you trust yourself with it?" she asks. Mustang has to admit, he hasn’t thought about that much. He hasn’t thought of it much, but he _should_. She’s right: Flame Alchemy is _dangerous._ If it slipped into the wrong hands, someone could do a lot of wrong with it. Mustang hadn’t really considered what he’d do if his hands were the wrong ones.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “I don’t know what I’m capable of.” He’d like to think that he could never do anything terrible with this gift, but he knows that he’s young and idealistic. He hasn’t seen war yet. He doesn’t know what it might be like when he gets there.

He doesn’t know what he’ll look like after he’s been baptized in fire, doesn’t know if that person will still be able to control the flames.

“What will you do if you’re capable of worse than you expected?” She does look at him now, and he can feel her eyes boring into him. She’s trying to assess whether or not he’s someone worthy of her father’s forbidden knowledge. She won’t just tell him this just because he asked. She _shouldn’t_ tell him this just because he asked.

He tries to wrap his brain around what he'd do, and he ends up with a half-formed thought. 

“You said that you weren’t afraid to love a man," he says. Riza rolls her eyes.

“This is a little forward, don’t you think? You don’t even know me.”

“I wasn’t done yet,” Mustang says, because that was just the first bit of his thought, “you said that you weren’t afraid to love a man, someday, but you said you weren’t afraid to shoot him either. If I _were_ capable of those terrible things, I’d want someone like that, someone who was willing to stop me, even if it meant killing me." 

He’d say that he trusts Hughes with that, but Mustang knows that isn’t true. Hughes loves people too much, and he’s too soft on them when he does. If Mustang _did_ get out of hand, Hughes would never pull the trigger.

“Someone like you.” He doesn’t necessarily mean her specifically, but someone like her. Someone who wouldn’t be afraid to take him out and would know when it was necessary. He wants someone like that watching his back, making sure that he _doesn’t_ get that way.

“You’d trust me with that?” The way that she says _that_ makes him think she can’t even say the word shoot right now.

Maybe he should clarify that he doesn’t _expect_ her to do that for him, that it was more hypothetical, but what comes out is, “I trust your aim.” She looks down at her hands, and he can hear her steady her breathing.

“Alright,” she says, “if you trust my aim, I trust yours.” Then, she leads him into her house.

 

She decides to trust him with the secrets of Flame Alchemy. He’s aware of the dangers and willing to let her or someone else end him if he ceases to be. As far as she’s concerned, he’s worthy of the knowledge. She decides that she wants to go further than just letting him in on the secrets of Flame Alchemy. She wants to join him on the front lines. 

“I’m going to join the army with you,” she says firmly.

“What? Why?” he doesn’t sound angry or anything, just confused. She hasn’t exactly brought up her intentions before.

“You want me to shoot you if you get out of hand,” she says, “how am I supposed to do that if I’m here and you’re there.”

“I assumed you could just shoot a bullet skyward and it would find me,” Mustang says, “you _are_ Riza Hawkeye. Didn’t seem too out there.”

“Mustang,” she mutters.

“What? I trust your aim,” Mustang says, and Hawkeye can’t honestly tell if he’s joking.

“Mustang,” she repeats, more forcefully this time.

“But really, why do you want to join the military now?” he asks, “you have a good career. People love your shows. Why would you give that up?”

“I can shoot,” Hawkeye says, “maybe I should do something that matters with it.” She loves her life. She loves to travel. She loves the thrill of a show, the feeling of making an impossible shot- the roar of the crowd behind her.

But Hawkeye also wants to make a difference in the world, and she doesn’t think she can do that traveling around with her shooting show. She’ll enjoy herself, but she won’t really _help_ anything.

She wants to make this country better, and if there’s anyone she thinks can do that, it’s Roy Mustang. He has the optimism and the drive to do it, and a contingency plan for if he becomes the very thing he’s fighting against. Maybe the military’s worth a try.

  


Hawkeye wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she joined the military, but it wasn’t what she got. What she got was a front row seat for human suffering, much of it inflicted by her own hands.

What she got was a newer gun with a wider range and orders to aim for the head instead of the cigarette. She knows far too much now about what a human head looks like after its been shot. She knows that orders don’t always equal right, even when you have to follow them. And she knows that Mustang and the rest of the soldiers here are as disillusioned as she is. She can't tell if it's a legitimate question or just her anger bubbling out when she demands this of him. 

“Maybe you can answer this, Major. Why are we being ordered to kill citizens when we should be the ones protecting them? We were supposed to help people.” That’s what she joined this military for. She wanted to do some good in the world, but all her trigger finger has done since she joined up was commit atrocities. It used to make people smile. Now it makes people dead. 

“Because that’s the job,” a different Major, _Kimblee_ says, “this is a war and that’s what soldiers do.”

“You think this is our job?” Mustang demands.

Kimblee looks serene when he says, “Little Miss Sure Shot” and she cringes when she hears that name here, so far from that person she used to be, “you’re a sniper now. Can you honestly tell me you don’t feel pride in your skill when you take down an enemy?” He scoffs.

“If you didn’t want to snuff out lives, you should have stuck to snuffing out candles.” Mustang grabs him by the collar, and he tries to shut him up, but it doesn’t work. Kimblee just keeps talking and talking and talking and talking and every word feels like a blow.

_What did you expect?_

The words ring in Hawkeye’s ears long after the conversation ends. The thing is that she doesn’t _know._ She just- she never assumed that it would be this.

Kimblee’s words all seep into her skin, leaving her feeling even dirtier and gultier than she did before. Maybe Kimblee’s right.

There’s a thrill for a moment- the same thrill she always got when hitting a cigarette or a quarter thrown into the air or even snuffing out a candle. But then, there’s a terrible feeling of guilt that settles in the pit of her stomach. _I killed someone and I felt_ **_proud_ ** _of that._

Maybe he _is_  right. They aren’t so different after all. The only difference between what he does and what she does is that she feels guilty afterwards.

She might feel guilty afterwards, but she still pulls the trigger. And in that moment, she feels good about doing it.

  


Ishval _finally_ ends. “The War” as they called it, is over now. But Hawkeye knows that it was never a war. It was an extermination, a state sanctioned slaughter, a _genocide_.

It might be easier if she didn’t see her face on every paper in the city, talking about how Little Miss Sure Shot decided to help her country and helped rein in the Ishvalan Rebellion. Claiming that she did her country a great service and using her as a recruitment tool.

Hawkeye feels a bit ill just thinking about it, all the things that she carried out. She carries out more things during the years to come. She helps recruit a team of good people dedicated to her goals. She learns about homunculi, puts more bullets in Lust than she had fired in years, and feels more relieved when she realizes that Mustang didn’t die than she ever thought she would feel again.

She suffers a lot, and she causes a lot of suffering in turn. Apparently, all the suffering in Ishval (and every military conflict in the entire history of Amestris) was to charge a transmutation circle the size of the country. The Fuhrer is a homunculus, and now she’s his personal assistant. Hostage is the most accurate word for the situation.

The papers drag the story of her becoming his assistant through multiple news cycles, speaking of everything from an extra-marital affair to the Fuhrer wanting a redo of the cigarette trick. Hawkeye sues the papers claiming an affair for libel and wins. That’s about the only victory she’s going to get in this arena.

 

For the first few weeks, she’s on edge the entire time, but eventually the days become mundane. Apparently, humans can get used to almost anything.

Complacency breeds strange bedfellows. Apparently, complacency helps her regrow her sass. There’s a reason that the papers used to be quoted in her witty quotes. She hasn’t lost that sense of humor or that spunk, even if this probably isn’t the best time for it.

 

She sets the Fuhrer Wrath’s tea in front of him. Normally, he even keeps his human mask on around her. Perhaps it’s because it’s hard for him to tell when to use it and when not to. Perhaps it’s to keep her on her toes. Perhaps it’s just because he enjoys it. Either way, the homunculus who rules their country tries to make small talk with her. 

“Have you heard any good jokes, recently?” he asks, casually.

“No, sir.”

“Oh come on,” he says, “tell me a joke, Lieutenant.”

“A joke,” she says flatly.

“A joke,” he repeats, “tell me one, Lieutenant.” Then Hawkeye gets a terrible idea.

“Do you remember that time I shot the cigarette out of your mouth?”

“Of course. I was actually impressed,” he says, “humans don’t impress me often.”

“We should retry that.”

“Why?”

“I’m afraid that I missed,” she says, completely deadpan. He just laughs. Hawkeye didn’t expect him to _laugh._

“You are an impressive woman, Lieutenant,” he says, “but I think I preferred Little Miss Sure Shot.” Hawkeye has tried so hard not to dwell too much on the person that she was before all of this, but sometimes she does. She thinks about herself back then, Little Miss Sure Shot. She was innocent and vibrant with a rifle in her perfectly clean hands.

“You know, sir,” Hawkeye says, “I think I did too.”

  


Everything happens so fast after that. Promised Day finally comes. Mustang loses his sight. Edward loses his alchemy. Alphonse gets his body back.

Then soon after, Mustang can see again.  He’s been promoted to Major General, and he’s well on his way to becoming Fuhrer. She’s a Captain and she has no desire to rise any higher. Hawkeye is tired.

She doesn’t care to be Captain Hawkeye anymore. She’d like to just go back to being herself. Maybe she can never wash the blood off of her hands, but she’d like to go back to doing something she likes, at least. She has some time for that before they finally bring the establishment down and convict themselves of war crimes.

She mulls over this decision for weeks, even though she knows that she’s going to make it. She knows that she’s going to resign the moment that they get Mustang’s sight back. She’s not needed anymore, and she doesn’t want to do this any longer. She decides to just get it over with.

“I’m stepping down now, sir,” she says. She doesn’t give him any time to protest, and just plows through.

“You’re well on your way to becoming the next Fuhrer, and I don’t really want to continue.”

“You’re really quitting the military?”

“That’s what resigning means, sir,” Riza says. She doesn’t even resist the urge to roll her eyes this time. He smiles. He actually _smiles._

“Well,” he says, “fraternization rules don’t apply if you leave the military.” It’s almost shy. He doesn’t want to presume, but he’s putting it out there. Well, that’s a relief. She’s liked him for _years_ now.  She kisses him, and she kisses him like her life depends on it. It doesn’t, of course. She’s left that part of her life behind her, but it still feels urgent. He breaks the kiss, and sends her a terrified look. 

"You haven't left yet," he says, "I meant after we turned in the paperwork, Lieutenant." 

“I’m already resigning,” Hawkeye says, “what are they going to do, discharge me?”

“They could give you a dishonorable discharge,” Mustang says. Then his eyes widen. “They could give _me_ a dishonorable discharge.”

“I’ll be out of the military in two weeks,” Hawkeye says, “I think we can handle keeping a secret that long.” He doesn’t seem completely convinced.

“If they discharge you dishonorably, it could _kill_ your job prospects.”

“I doubt anyone who pays to see me shooting will care about how I left the military.”

“Wait,” he says, with an excited glint in his eyes, “you’re going back to shooting?”

“Yes,” she says, “it’s what I’m good at.” It’s what she loves. She adores the feeling of hitting a difficult target, making a shot that no one else could even dream of making. She misses when the thrill of a perfect shot didn’t come with the guilt of ending a life.

“Well Ms. Hawkeye,” he says, purposefully not calling her Lieutenant, “let’s get that resignation paperwork started. Wouldn’t want to keep your adoring public waiting.”

 

Her resignation doesn’t take long to clear, and soon, she’s leaving work for the last time as an employee of the military. The rest of the team aren’t taking it too well, and they’re having what amounts to a going away party outside of the building.

“You can’t leave, Hawkeye,” Fuery says, “who’s going to keep the General from doing the mini skirt thing now!”

“I will,” Hawkeye says, “I’m quitting, not dying.”

“But who’s going to do all of his paperwork?” Fuery asks.

“Him, hopefully,” Hawkeye says. It’s about time Mustang did his own damn paperwork. Delegation her ass.

“He’s looking for ways to say we’re gonna miss you,” Havoc says.

“I’ll still live here,” Hawkeye says, rolling her eyes, “I’m doing a whole month of shows here in Central before I go on tour, and there’s a few months worth of prep work to get all of that set up.”

“Damn,” Breda says, as if he's somehow just realizing this, “I can’t believe you’re _really_ Little Miss Sure Shot. My mom never shut up about you back in the day.”

“So you really shot a cigarette out of Bradley’s mouth back in the day?” Havoc asks.

“I did,” Hawkeye says. Havoc grins around his own cigarette.

“Do me!”

“It’s very dangerous, Havoc,” Hawkeye says. 

“But you’re a great shot! You could do it!”

“I could also shoot you in the face,” Hawkeye says. She doesn’t think that’s very likely, but even though she wouldn’t admit it, she does prefer Havoc’s face to be unshot.

“Please,” Havoc says, “I trust you.” Hawkeye rolls her eyes, but decides to do it anyway. She draws her gun and takes the shot. It hits, and the ashes on the end of Havoc’s cigarette fall to the dirt.

“Wicked,” Havoc says. All the men look a little awed, but Mustang might be awed the most. 

“I’ve never seen you do that before,” he says. He even  _sounds_ awed, and she manages a little smile.

“Can we come watch your first show?” Falman asks.

“Of course,” she says, and she can feel their excitement building, “if you buy a ticket just like everyone else.” Then, the excitement deflates.

“Hawkeye,” Havoc groans, “I don’t have that type of money.” She knows for a fact that isn’t true. She was a First Lieutenant long enough to know what the salary runs.

“I’ll treat,” Mustang stage-whispers to them.

“Sir,” Hawkeye says. 

“Come on, Hawkeye,” he says, “it’ll be a good team bonding exercise.”

“Alright,” she says. It's not worth arguing this point any longer. 

“We’ll have to invite the Elrics too,” Havoc says, “I bet they’ll want to see you in action.” Hawkeye thinks that they’ve seen enough of her “in action” to last a lifetime. They don’t need to see her in a silly costume shooting at flames to know what she's capable of, but she doesn’t complain either. If the team is going to come, it’s only right that the boys come too.

  


It takes a few more months than she even expected to get a new stage show ready. Gathering up cast members, booking venues- it all takes far longer than she remembered. And even as one of the biggest stars in Amestris, she still needs to advertise. People can’t come see her if they don’t know when and where she’s performing, and they _definitely_ can’t come see her if they don’t know she’s back

That gives the Elrics a little more time to get to Central, and Mustang doesn’t change his mind about treating the whole squad to her first show, but at this point might as well have just treated them herself. 

Even if the papers are saying she and Mustang didn’t have a “proper” wedding because they just went down to the courthouse, they’re still legally wed. That means joint assets, and if he’s treating, she’s treating by extension.  She shouldn’t have agreed to that, really. The treating part. She suggested the wedding part, though, and she’s still fairly sure it was a good idea.

The Elrics show up before the rest of the team, which is surprising. Hawkeye hasn’t known Edward Elric to be early to anything in his whole life. Mustang, of course, says this.

“What are you doing here so early? I thought that they wrote “perpetually late” on your birth certificate.”

“I am _perfectly punctual,”_ he growls.

“It’s nice to see you, boys,”  Hawkeye says.

“Nice to see you,” Ed grumbles.

“I’m so excited to get to see your show!” Al says, “I remember seeing stuff in the papers about it when I was a kid.”

“Oh my,” Hawkeye says, “you make me sound so old.”

“Because you _are_ old,” her traitor of a husband says.

“Lies and slander,” Alphonse says, giving her the backup she deserves. 

“Slander’s spoken,” Ed says, “libel’s written. You know that, Al.”

“Wait, I thought that it was all slander?”

 “No,” Hawkeye say, “your brother’s right. When it’s written, it’s libel. Remember when I won that case against the paper that printed that false cocaine story?” A woman had given her name as "Riza Hawkeye" when she was arrested, and one of the papers in town reported that it was the  _real_ Riza Hawkeye. Out of all the libel cases she’s ever fought, that one just seems the most ridiculous.

 “They made a musical about you, you know,” Al says.

“I know,” Hawkeye says. Every time that she feels like she’s gotten used to being in the public eye, they throw something completely new at her that she has to adjust to.

“Have you seen it?” Hawkeye shakes her head.

“It was… really something. I wouldn’t suggest it.”

Mustang shakes his head, “It’s bad enough reading what they write about us in the papers.”

Ed grins as he says, “You know, that musical makes you seem like even more of a bastard than you actually are.”

“Really?" Hawkeye says, “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Hey,  _you_ put a ring on it.” Then he holds out his ring to the brothers as proof. 

“And I regret that every day,” she says solemnly.

“Oh man,” Al says, “they got you two _so wrong.”_

“Old fashioned wedding indeed,” Ed says, with such a shit-eating grin Hawkeye can only assume it’s a reference to that godforsaken musical.

“Do you think I can sue them for libel too?” Hawkeye asks, only half joking.

“I have no idea,” Mustang says. Hawkeye sighs and shakes her head. Sometimes being a celebrity can be tiring.

“So,” she says, “what are you two doing after this? Are you staying in town a while?”

“I’m off to Xing in a few days,” Al says. 

“And _I’m_ heading to Resembool to spend a week with Winry and Granny before I head West,” Ed adds.

“You’re heading in opposite directions?” Hawkeye asks. She’d always kind of thought they were attached at the hip.

“Yup,” Ed says, “if we want to learn everything we can, we can’t exactly travel together. We have to gain as much alchemical knowledge as we can.” Hawkeye doesn’t think that she knows a word more pretentious than _alchemical._ Maybe she’s just biased against the word, though, knowing the men she knows that use it.

“I think brother would have gone to Xing, though,” Al says in a hushed whisper, “if I didn’t call it first.”

“What? No,” Ed scoffs. 

“Oh come on,” Al says, rolling his eyes, “like you _aren’t_ missing your emperor boyfriend.”

“ _He’s not my boyfriend_!” Ed shouts at a typical Ed volume with typical Ed outrage. Hawkeye looks at the clock, and realizes that she really ought to leave. She has a few things to take care of before the show.

“I’ve got to go, boys,” she says, “say hi to the rest of the team for me?”

“Of course,” Mustang says. Then, she leaves the three of them to wait for the rest of the team. 

 

She goes to the venue and makes sure that she has all of her supplies ready. She goes over the inventory: a few candles and lighters, quarters to throw, various other props, and ammo for her different guns. Then she remembers her costuming. At the moment, her hair is up. She's grown accustomed to wearing her hair up in the military, but when she did shows, she always wore it down. She decides to let it flow free again, and takes out the tie. Then, she goes to change into her costume.

She's done this so many times that she doesn't get nervous, but she feels like the minutes are dragging on at half their normal. She's waited so long to do this again, and she feels like it will never get here. But time ticks on, of course, and it finally does. 

 

The lights come up, and the applause starts.

“Performing for the first time in nearly a decade, we are happy to present Ms. Riza Hawkeye, formerly Captain, formerly Miss, but still the surest shots, ” the announcer says in his booming voice. She clutches her rifle, and she smiles. She missed this. She missed this so much. She takes off her safety.

 

Then, Riza Hawkeye takes a shot that would be impossible for anyone else, and she hits it.

**Author's Note:**

> a few ends notes! 
> 
> The Musical in this universe is called “Little Miss Hawkeye” 
> 
> Numbers include  
> No Business Like Military Business  
> I’m an Ishvalan Too, the racially insensitive mess that earns the musical a boycott from Ishvalan activists, leftist groups, and from Hawkeye and Mustang themselves (this is removed in the later revival of the show, thank god)  
> Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better (My Dad Could Do Alchemy BETTERR THANN YoOOUUU)  
> An Old-Fashioned Wedding (the only changed line is “I want a wedding like the Armstrongs have” and Olivier does try to take the show to court for libel because the Armstrongs do NOT have extravagant weddings, thank you very much, but it doesn’t work. Apparently name dropping is perfectly fine.) also did i have them get married solely so i could make a joke about this song? the answer is yes
> 
> The musical theater scene in Amestris is just taking off. Other popular productions include  
> Oh-Oh-Oh IN THE DESERT where the wind goes sweeping up the sand  
> Singin’ In the Rain (which is almost exactly the same, but Cosmo is an alchemist for some reason) 
> 
> Please if you have more funny suggestions for old timey musicals in the fma universe please please tell me in the comments section. I need some more giggles


End file.
